


Say It Now 'Cause In Your Heart It's Loud

by the_secretsigns



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Chocolate, Inception Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_secretsigns/pseuds/the_secretsigns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
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</div><p>Arthur is almost thirty. He likes long walks on the beach, quiet nights with a bottle of wine and his favourite movies and running around in dreams creating paradoxes. He also likes chocolate very much. He's brilliant, intelligent, athletic, meticulous, has a great sense of humour and dresses very well. One day someone just as if not more so brilliant, intelligent, athletic, meticulous with an amazing sense of humour and dresses anachronistically well gave him a box of chocolates. Those are the chocolates he likes the best. He even keeps the tin it came in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say It Now 'Cause In Your Heart It's Loud

**Author's Note:**

> I owe everything and possibly my first born to [pearljamz](http://pearljamz.livejournal.com/) :D  
> Her amazing art is [right here](http://pearljamz.livejournal.com/68427.html). 
> 
>  
> 
> Written for Round 2 of the Inception Big Bang.

Arthur is watching a rather inelegant fight between two men. There’s a lot of hesitant kicking and grabbing and hair pulling. It’s all scrappy and uncoordinated and downright hilarious. And even though he’s seen it many, many times it always makes him laugh, except this time he starts to choke on the piece of chocolate he’s eating.

It’s a good thing no one can see him because he’s a little inelegant himself, sitting in bed propped up with extra pillows, a laptop in front of him, a tin of the potentially choking hazard Quality Street next to him and crumpled wrappers strewn around. But he doesn’t really care right now because Bridget has just yelled at Mark Darcy and he’s walking away with whatever dignity he has left. A very cool jacket-over-the-shoulder kind of walk away, which Arthur admits he’s always wanted to do but there’s never been a real opportunity for that.

He reaches for another piece of chocolate but stops himself. There’re only five pieces left now and he’s thinking of saving them. He did entertain the thought of buying more chocolate and refilling the tin but it seemed ridiculous at the time, now he might even bother to get dressed for it.  
His priorities are a little simpler now that he’s on holiday. Or a hiatus. Or a semi-retirement. He’s not really sure what to call it but it’s been quite a long break and it could get longer.

His last job was in July, when he went two levels deep, floated around dodging projections and basically created gravity. He has enough stories to tell his grandkids, if he lives long enough to tell them, although at this rate he might die from diabetes more than an actual bullet through the skull.  
To be honest, it’s been quite refreshing to not have to run around and hide from angry corporations out for his head. This might have something to do with the deal Cobb made with Mr. Saito. Perhaps Saito was exceedingly pleased with the results that he threw some extra money around.

Although just thinking of Cobb makes Arthur a little upset. Perhaps upset isn’t the right feeling but with Cobb it’s kind of hard to describe. They’ve known each other for years. It was Cobb that brought him into the dreamsharing business. Back then it was less of a business and more of a tool for visualizing architecture. Arthur had never seen anything like it and would do anything to get to play in the dreamscape. 

In hindsight maybe he became Cobb’s personal secretary just for the opportunity because what is a pointman, anyway, other than a glorified PA? He brings the coffee, summarizes the documents, hires the warehouses, arranges accommodation, packs the suitcases, trains the newbies, and takes the flack when the mark is surprisingly militarized.

Only chocolate can save Arthur when he starts thinking about Cobb. He’s unwrapping and popping pieces into his mouth faster than he can think. He’s happy for Cobb, of course, and happy for his kids. Yet he can’t help feeling a little bit resentful that at the end of the day, Cobb gets somewhere to go home to and he’s in a hotel room in Paris holding lonely movie marathons with confectionery. It’s not like they were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together evading the law, running from bounty hunters and playing around in the minds of politicians and CEOs stealing their secrets. But when you drop everything to join your best friend in a life of white collar crime you don’t expect you get left high and dry when he’s done playing the game.

Arthur may be exaggerating a bit because he could go anywhere in the world and do anything he wanted or take any of the countless job offers that are constantly flooding his email if he ever bothered to check. 

The movie hasn’t ended yet but he’s still pissed off about Cobb so he stops watching and reaches for his phone. He considers calling him just to say how pissed off he is but then Cobb would have no idea what he’s on about, get distracted by James doing something in the background then he’d hang up promising to call later. He never does. Arthur calls Ariadne instead.

“Why don’t you just go out?” she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I’ve seen everything there is to see about this city.” he replies droning.

“Then why are you even here?”

“I like the hotel.”

“Don’t lie. You’re here because you’re hoping to run into Eames.”

If it isn’t one man that’s giving Arthur trouble it’s another. And this one causing equally conflicting emotions. 

Eames is responsible for the chocolate tin that Arthur refuses to finish. Ariadne saw it on the bedside table and mentioned that she had one too. In fact Eames gave everyone the same purple hexagonal tin right after their last job. It was only after she was sick of hearing Arthur talk about the wink Eames gave him as he nudged past and left it on trolley that she blurted out that Eames did the same for her and probably did the same for everyone else. How many times was he going to ask her what that wink meant anyway?

“You’re not going to find him when you’re holding movie marathons in your hotel room!” 

“Fine.”

“I’d take you out but I have a presentation to prepare for. Promise me you’ll leave your hotel room.”

“Okay.”

“I can tell you’re lying.”

“No I promise. Scout’s honor.”

“You were in the Scouts?”

“For a week. But I got a badge so it counts.”

“Don’t make me check in on you.” 

“I’ll send you a photo of the receipt.”

He hangs up and slides back into bed and continues watching. Swears he’ll leave after the movie. After the sequel. After an episode of Pride and Prejudice (apparently Colin Firth is the theme of today’s marathon).

Arthur maybe has an affinity for British men. Maybe.

It could be the accent. It could be the way they always sound really polite no matter what.

But Eames is no Colin Firth.

Eames is an irritating, insufferable know-it-all. He dresses like someone’s inebriated uncle and sometimes smells like it too, but mostly he smells like clove cigarettes and some heady cologne that Arthur’s not sure he likes.

He has a smile that could be either genuine or smarmy depending on the context and Arthur’s seen it all.

He also has a very nice ass or at least Arthur imagines he does from what he can make out from the granpa trousers Eames wears.

He flirts with anything on two legs. He always has something to say. He’s an idiot and a genius and a joker and Arthur can’t decide which side of the coin he prefers and he’s too afraid to toss it.

Instead he’s going to finish the series in one sitting and maybe he’ll get his answer then.

It starts to get dark outside when Arthur is in the middle of the third episode. Suddenly there’s a beep from his laptop. An unmistakeable customised beep. He frantically clicks on his browser, sees the flashing orange tab and his heart jumps a little. Immediately he sits up straight, pushes up his glasses even though they can’t go any higher, and leans in. 

He reads the username twice to be sure and it’s the same. The same one Eames uses to post in the dreamshare forum.

The forum itself is a pathetic little place where wannabes and idiots that maybe shared a dream once in their life talk about it like experts. Arthur wandered in there one day during a dark moment of desperation where he hoped he would find a slightly less criminal means of dreamsharing. There’s a section where people could post threads advertising their needs of services in an awkward craigslist sort of way, most of the requests were either for simple wish fulfillment or to play out sexual fantasies (which are pretty much the same thing). Occasionally there were some genuine requests but Arthur didn’t trust the legitimacy of them. He did, however, find Eames or so he thinks it’s Eames.

At first it was a familiar username that was a reference to their last job. Then he tracked the IP address and found several usernames posting in different sections and there’s really only one person he knows that’s capable of having various personas. Arthur watched closely for months just to be sure then posts stopped about a week ago. He must have been on a job.

This time it’s the Swedish student. The IP address says he’s in Brussels and that itself makes Arthur’s heart beat faster. He’s close by. The post is something ridiculous about adding acid to the somnacin so he can have “totally tripped out dreams”. This isn’t the first time anyone has suggested it and it’s irritating how the “student” writes like it’s the most brilliant idea anyone has ever thought of. Almost immediately there are replies of “been there, done that” and “lol noob”. Eames is such a troll.  
30 minutes later there’s a long holier-than-reply about how dangerous it is and how it should and shouldn’t be done, clearly written by someone who’s never done it before but likes the sound of their own writing. Arthur wonders why the ones that claim they’ve “been there” and “done that” are never the same ones with the long explanatory posts. He doesn’t even know why he’s even stalking this post (he’s waiting for Eames to reply, which he hasn’t done in almost an hour) and the more he reads the more irrationally irritated he gets. And the more irrationally irritated he gets the more he wants to say something. And he does.

In 15 minutes he crafts a well-articulated rebuttal and clicks send. Then goes to the toilet to reevaluate his life because he is clearly spending far too much time on the internet.

He returns to find a message in his inbox. It’s from the “Swedish student” which doesn’t make his heart jump so much as give him a heart attack.

“Arthur, is that you?”

_Oh fuck._

“How did you know it was me?” Arthur asks. They’re chatting on Yahoo! Messenger because nobody uses Yahoo! Messenger.

“you write like how you speak….” Eames types back. “i can practically hear your voice coming through the screen lol!”

Arthur frowns, but mostly at himself at not trying harder. He could have at least eased up on the capital letters, made some spelling mistakes – he knows Eames does it all the time.

“Why are you even in those forums?” Arthur looks disgusted even typing it.

“i could ask you the same thing.”

“I was stalking you” just doesn’t seem the appropriate. “I make it a point to know everything.” seems a more plausible answer. “What’s your excuse?”

“scouting the competition…....seeing who else is out there…… you never know.”

Arthur makes a face like he’s read the most ridiculous thing. Not that Eames can see.

“so where are you now?”

“Paris”

“excellent. lets go for drinks tonight…i can be there in a couple hours.”

Tonight? Arthur looks at his watch, then at his reflection on the mirror across the room. His glasses have already slipped down his nose, his hair is a bit long and he has three-day-old stubble. He doesn’t even know what suits he has since he’s been living in t-shirts and sweat pants. 

They exchange numbers and log off.

Arthur is already out of bed and searching in his closet for the tightest pair of pants he owns.

It’s a little bit ridiculous but what does he expect to happen? It’s just drinks. Out with a friend. If anything he’ll make good on his promise to Ariadne.

The pants come around a little too tight at the waist, maybe he should lay off the chocolates.

_Chocolates._

Should he say something about the chocolates? 

_Thank you very much. Yes I still have them. Yes I’ve probably been keeping them for longer than the recommended shelf date. Nothing wrong with that. I just like chocolates very much._

Arthur entertains the thought of maybe being a little too drunk. Just a little. Enough to take the edge off.

He has a problem of being a little too level headed and too aware of everything that at times it’s been restricting. Times like this. Because when is the next time he’s going to see Eames, it’s too serendipitous a moment to let pass.

Maybe he needs to have a drink to calm down. Maybe a shower and a shave too. And call the concierge and ask if it’s too late to have a haircut.

***

Eames is already at the bar and it looks like he’s already got a drink in him. Arthur extends a hand but doesn’t expect Eames to pull him in and give me a one armed hug.

“It’s so nice to see you.” Eames says politely and a little slurry.

_The feeling is mutual_

They go to a table in the corner which is very private and Arthur’s trying not to get any ideas. But it’s not helping that Eames is extremely handsy when he’s in a good mood and whatever he had to drink before has put him in a very good mood.

“So rumour has it you’re out of the game.” Eames starts bluntly.

“Rumor has it you have a child in every country you’ve stepped in.”

Eames laughs. “Oh that _is_ true. I’m slowly building an army. Just wait, the Eames clan will take over the world.”

What is he even saying?

“There must be some truth to your rumour.” Eames continues. “If you have to be lurking in the forums.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything and just looks at his drink. Part of him wants to be honest and say that he only got into it because of Cobb but revealing one’s co-dependency is a sign of weakness and he hasn’t really finished his sessions with his therapist yet. If only Ariadne wasn’t so busy.

“Don’t tell me you’re quitting because Cobb is out of the picture?” 

Arthur tries not to react to that but then again he can’t think of a lie fast enough.

“He may be the _most skilled extractor_.” the slight tone in Eames’ voice sounds like sarcasm. “But, to be honest, everybody knows you’re the brains behind the operations.”

Arthur finally looks at him in the eye and Eames is staring right back. There’s even a slight smile that seems genuine. But then Eames smiles too much.

“What do you want, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asks.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to work with me.” He takes a sip then licks his lips. Arthur is so distracted he’s almost ready to say yes. “I’ve tried emailing you but you never replied.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t mean to say that out loud. Arthur has been ignoring his emails for the very reason that they’re full of job offers but he never expected one from Eames.

“It’s been almost six months, Arthur. People even thought you were dead.”

Arthur snorted. It’s probably been the first time he’s snorted in six months.

“I assure you the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Well I, for one, am very glad to hear that.” There’s another smile before Eames takes his drink.

It’s too dark in the bar and Arthur is not sure what kind of smile it is but he’s had enough of trying to interpret every single situation. Especially the fact that their  
knees might be touching under the table. He finishes his drink and orders another one.  
_

Nobody knows what time it is and Arthur can’t be bothered to check.

They spill out of the cab right in front of Arthur’s hotel, Eames has conveniently not booked a room anywhere and seems to have invited himself over. Arthur has no objections to that at all. He does object slightly to Eames not having any legs to carry himself across the lobby to the elevator. You’d think that someone with as much muscles as Arthur can feel through his shirt would be able to sustain a little longer. Once they’re in, Arthur tries to prop him on the railing but he insists on slipping so Arthur has to step in to hold him up.

And suddenly they’re face to face, up close and Arthur can actually tell what colour Eames’ eyes are. Or he thinks he can in the dim elevator light. His brain is a little slow in deciding whether it’s blue-gray or green-gray or maybe just gray.

“You’re staring.” Eames says suddenly. “Is there something on my face?”

Arthur blinks.

“You look like shit.”

Eames laughs and nearly keels over. “That’s true.” But then he stands upright and places a hand on Arthur’s cheek. 

“You, however… look very pretty.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and really hopes that it’s the alcohol that’s making him red.

But the elevator door opens and Eames thinks he can walk out by himself and the short trip to the room is eventful.

“Is it just me or is it really hot in here?” Eames’s jacket is already on the floor and he’s fussing with the buttons of his shirt.

Arthur looks down at the jacket that he really wants to pick it up but he’s already feeling dizzy just moving his head so he just nudges it aside with his foot. It _is_ really hot in the room, he knows the heater controls are somewhere on the wall and he finds it.

Eames picks this very moment to realize he can’t actually stand and leans his entire weight towards the wall with Arthur and the control box in between. Chest to shirtless muscly tattooed chest.

Suddenly it’s very hard to breathe.

Heat plus alcohol plus half naked man pressing on with one side and the sharp edges of a box digging into his ribs on the other side equals a rather frustrated Arthur who cannot be held fully responsible for his actions.

Eames is breathing heavy and not giving Arthur any room to move away. Not that he wants to move away but not having the option really limits his actions and he prays that he hasn’t read the situation wrong. Prays that he hasn’t read all the signs wrong. If they were any signs at all.

But all he has is tunnel vision and Eames’ lips are in sight and there’s really no turning back. So Arthur makes a move.

***

Arthur is sitting in the chair by the bed, fully dressed and staring at the snoring figure half under the blankets. He barely got any sleep and if he did it was in his clothes over the covers. His head is heavy there’s still a dull throbbing but most of the pain is gone. Captivated by what would normally be an unglamorous sight, Arthur has been thinking about what he would say.

An apology seems like a good way to start.

_I’m sorry your lips were enticing._

_I’m sorry I got lost in your eyes_

_I’m sorry I’ve been stalking you but you asked me out first and you have a stupid accent and your hands were all over the place._

All very bad excuses from very bad romance novels. Coming clean never really works like they do in the movies.

He can pretend that nothing happened and it all got lost in the haze of drunkenness. But what are the chances he could be that lucky? Arthur never relies on luck because there’s is no basis in it and even though it does happen from time to time – the chances are just too low.

Just apologize and get it over with. If Eames doesn’t want to see him anymore, so be it. He’d just hide away in a cave and promise never to cross paths again. He’d even…  
“JESUS CHRIST!”

Arthur grips the arms of the chair because Eames is suddenly upright. No one that hungover should be able to move that fast.

He mumbles something that sounds like “sorry” and rubs his face in his hands. Arthur decides that it’s rude to stare but doesn’t actually look away until Eames becomes a bit more aware and pulls the blanket right up to his chest.

“Um. Good morning.” Eames says rather sheepishly.

“Good morning.” Arthur replies, trying his best to look nonchalant about it leaning his chin on his knuckles.

“I… uh… seem to be naked.” Eames seems a little desperate in covering himself with the blanket.

Arthur finds it very amusing but he’s trying his best not to show it and points to the desk chair where he’s neatly placed all of Eames clothes that he picked up from the floor.

“And… the bathroom’s this way?” Eames looks at the nearest door.

Arthur nods. He decides to give Eames some privacy by picking up a nearby magazine and pretending to read it, secretly hoping to watch as Eames gets out of bed. But Eames drags the entire sheet off the bed, wraps himself inelegantly, takes his clothes and heads for the bathroom door with a slight nod and an “excuse me.”

The second Eames is behind it, Arthur looks in the mirror and raises an eyebrow at himself. He reaches in his pocket for his die, feels the edges then rolls it on the table. Twice. He’s not dreaming. But what was that?

He never pegged Eames as being someone who was shy. If he remembers correctly, last night Eames was up close and shirtless. He tries to remember all the other times he’s been around Eames and never once noticed anything that wasn’t confident or cocky. Granted, most of the time they saw each other was at work. Arthur has his own work persona but it wasn’t like they had never gone out for drinks before and gotten shit-faced drunk. Of course they never ended up in the same room or saw each other the morning.

Arthur isn’t sure what to make of this, if there _is_ anything to make of it.

“Listen, Arthur… Did I…?” Eames voice trails off. He’s fully dressed and standing very straight by the door of the bathroom. “You see I tend to… I tend to get a little carried away after a couple of drinks. If you know what I mean?”

Arthur is surprised to see that Eames cleans up rather well with a hangover. His hair neatly combed with water and his shirt is tucked in (though Arthur takes credit for keeping them wrinkle-free on the chair).

Arthur holds out a glass of water and some aspirin.

“I’m afraid I may have had a bit too much, last night. And, um, I’ve been told I can get a little frisky when I go over the edge.”

Arthur shakes his head. “You were the absolute gentlemen.” Unlike someone else.

“Oh good. Good.” Eames’ posture relaxes a bit. It seems he’s been holding his breath since he exhales heavily. “Because I don’t remember a thing from last night. And I usually end up with having a lot of explaining to do the next morning.” Arthur swears Eames is blushing.

“Don’t worry about it.” Arthur is relieved, still, he feels like an idiot. This is the lucky break he was hoping for yet it doesn’t feel right.

“Oh I do worry about it.” Eames swallows the aspirin and completely downs the water. “I seem to have a built a bad reputation for myself… apparently I say things… to, um, get people to go to bed with me. Did I say anything to you?” Eames looks suddenly nervous it’s almost endearing.

“Well you did say I was pretty.” Arthur smiles, honestly flattered.

“Oh dear lord, I’m sorry.” Eames covers half his face with his hand. “Not to say you’re not good looking, Arthur, of course you are. But I mean really… I could’ve used a better line.”

“You could’ve… but judging by the situation and copious amount of alcohol it doesn’t really take that much to get me into bed.” Arthur regrets it almost immediately. He really should choose his words wisely because Eames still has a horrified look on his face.

“But I didn’t, did I?” 

“Nothing happened.”

“Um, so why was I naked?” Eames wasn’t entirely naked, he still had his shorts on and Arthur saw nothing.

“Well I like to keep the temperature a bit warm in here.” Arthur looks around and gestures at the room. His guilt rising.

“Ah!” Eames suddenly looks bright. “I think I remember that.”

Arthur puts his best poker face on.

“Oh?” Is all he can say without giving too much away.

“I do remember it being very hot.” Eames looks as if he’s searching for something in his head. His hands are in his pocket and Arthur just knows he’s checking his totem for comfort.

And before anything can trigger a memory, Arthur quickly opens the cover of the plates his ordered earlier.

“Breakfast?”

***

Arthur is a terrible, terrible person.

He spends the rest of the day outside and attempts retail therapy.

Then loads up all the rom coms in his laptop, which makes him feel worse because he sees himself as the slimy cad character that selfishly manipulates the innocent.  
Gives up and calls the only person in Paris he can talk to.

“Is this about Eames again? Because I thought I told you never to call me until you’re dating.”

“A simple hello would be fine, Ariadne.”

“I’m a grad student, Arthur. I don’t have time to listen to…”

“I kissed him.”

“WHAT?”

Arthur tells her everything while hiding his face in his hand, not that she can see anyway.

“Oh Arthur, stealer of kisses.” Ariadne laughs.

“How many times do I have to apologise for that?”

“No I get it… People get a little more confident and feisty in the dream world. But is the real world… and you took advantage of him when he was drunk.” Ariadne can’t stop being amused.

“I didn’t take advantage! I was following the heat of the moment… besides he flirted with me.”

“Mmhmm… Confessions of a sexual predator.”

“Hey! I resent that!” Arthur nearly shouts on the phone but then his voice goes soft. “I’m not that kind of criminal… besides nothing happened! He passed out. I just took off his pants and tucked him under the covers…”

“Wait. You took off his pants?” He doesn’t know if Ariadne is trying to be kind by stifling a giggle, she probably isn’t. 

“Well he couldn’t sleep in them… I mean… oh god…” Nothing he can say can save him. He doesn’t even want to touch his totem. No one would ever dream up a situation like this. “But he doesn’t remember a thing!” Arthur finally says as if that somehow alleviates the situation.

“Lucky for you then… However…” Ariadne starts with a serious tone. “If you do want your relationship to work then you’ll have be honest with him and tell him.”

“What? We’re not even going out!”

“Then Step One: Ask him out.” She says it like it’s so easy again.

“No. That’s not what I’m going to do.” Arthur flips open his laptop and looks at his emails.

“Then _what_ are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take this job in...” Arthur cradles the phone on his shoulder as he scans the emails. He’s not really sure. “I’m going to go away for a month or so. And forget everything.”

“I see.” Ariadne doesn’t sound convinced. “Pack your bags and go?”

“Yes.”

“And throw away that tin of Quality Street?”

The phone slips off Arthur’s shoulder.

“Right.” Arthur says tightly. “Well I’m going to pack now… I’ll send you a postcard when I’m there.”

He ends the call and pretends to go through his email again. He’s not really reading anything and only admits it when he takes off his glasses to rub his eyes but the moment he closes them he sees a sparkly set of gray-blue. If only the strong wave of guilt that hits him would drown him instead. 

His phone vibrates to interrupt his pity party. 

“I just remembered…”

_oh shit_

“that you never answered my question… Will you join me?”

Arthur hits reply and starts typing.

“Sorry I can’t. I’ve got a job in-“

He decides that it’s all too suspicious that he’s suddenly got a job and just leaves the first sentence in. But then Eames might ask why.

“Going stateside. Urgent business.” Is what he sends.

Then books a ticket in the opposite direction.

***

Athens is just the same as ever. The climate’s better, the food’s healthier, the sights are amazing but there’s a sense of pessimism in the air. Like something old and waiting to die. 

Ankara is beautiful but Istanbul is even more so. Arthur takes the train between the cities. He’s always loved trains, they have a certain romance to them. An old school charm. Possibly born out of too many novels and movies of high adventure but they’ve never failed to excite him whenever he took a trip. In hindsight he figured he should’ve taken the Orient Express all the way down to Istanbul. Maybe next time. When he’s not trying to run away from himself. At least he’s taking the scenic route.

He watches the trees and power lines and houses zoom by and makes a mental note of all the routes he’s ever wanted to take. Maybe travel from continent to continent. Tour China by train. Start from India perhaps and work his way across. Possibly to Mongolia. 

It’s a wonder he’s never done this before. But then again Cobb doesn’t like trains. There was this one time they were making their escape in Columbia and a train ride would’ve made a perfect cover but Cobb insisted they hire a plane. Granted it was faster and more convenient and trained automatic weapons were on them in a heartbeat. Arthur had a choice between irritated and angry, intense, finger-pointing Cobb in a non air conditioned train or just angry, intense, gun-toting Cobb in a fairly breezy Cessna. Lesser of two evils. Even if one of them meant imminent death.

Clearly Arthur isn’t doing a good job of escaping if he keeps recalling memories. Unfortunately that’s how Arthur’s mind works. Every single mistake, bad experience, unfortunate event is neatly filed away and categorized in big bold letters “NEVER AGAIN”. Which is why his response to everything has been either “No” or “It’s never been done” which means he hasn’t had enough experience with it to say no.

But he’s learning. And the chocolate helps. Yes he was going to get rid of the tin but there was just a couple of pieces left and he promises himself that he’ll throw it away once they’re completely finished. This sabbatical he’s taking is one that’s supposed to open his eyes and find himself. The sabbatical from the hiatus he took earlier. A holiday from a holiday.

He stays in Istanbul long enough to visit a couple museums and sends several postcards to Ariadne because he couldn’t decide on one.

Dubai is his next stop but he never leaves the airport. He and Cobb have done far too many jobs there, all of them high paying, high risk, high stakes. The first time was enough for Arthur to say no to the second offer but Cobb is someone who forgets that fire is hot and has to touch it again to remember.

Arthur takes an hour to decide between going to the Seychelles or Maldives. He has a contact in the Seychelles and it would be a lot easier to manage there but contacts tend to ask questions and Arthur’s not in the mood to meet anyone he knows. Besides he can hire a whole island to himself in Maldives.

On the way to the boarding room he passes the confectionery store. If anything to replenish his supply he could just buy another tin, but he already has one so the cardboard boxes will do.

***

Bliss.

Crisp white sand. Perpetual blue sky. Clouds hand painted by God. And all the seafood he can eat.

Lasts about two weeks because Arthur is inherently a city boy and if he doesn’t get to civilization soon he might just implode. Also he’s run out of chocolate.

***

It is possible to be bored in paradise.  
Arthur is having coffee at the Hilton only because they have the best wifi and very fancy plush chairs.

He’d be lying if he didn’t spend a single minute on that island not thinking about a certain Englishman. Time and distance heals all forms of guilt and maybe Arthur’s ready to come clean and just be honest about it. Maybe.

So he opens his notifications tab and there’s a long list of names and numbers. He looks at the last couple. Eames is in South East Asia somewhere. Brunei by the looks of it.  
Arthur remembers why he needed the wifi in the first place and scans his emails looking for the latest job offers. Despite everything, hiring an entire island for himself left a considerable dent in his bank account and he likes to keep it above a certain number.

And maybe if there happens to be... yes there is. A job in Brunei and the pay isn’t that bad either.

It’s simple extraction and it doesn’t even involve the Royal family. Arthur could convince the client to set their sights a little higher but they aren’t as ambitious and Arthur is still in a holiday mood, he just needs something to keep him busy. 

The team is capable enough. Jeremy, the extractor, has a good number of jobs under his belt. He appears calm and lacking in a sense of humour. Perfect.  
Their architect compensates for the lack with his own special brand. But at least he knows what he’s doing. The replication of the “Love Hotel” is flawless.

“I did my research.” Ilham says proudly. “I know every inch of their luxury suite… and let me tell you, it doesn’t come cheap.”

“Glad you took one for the team.” Arthur replies blandly as he lifts the pot of artificial flowers from the bureau. It even has the ‘Made in China’ sticker on the bottom.  
“Not just one.” Ilham has an all-too-pleased grin on his face. “I must say, Mr. Arthur… It might do you some good to visit a place like this once in a while.”

Arthur frowns at him.

“You are frowning far too much for a man your age.”

“Not everyone is easily satisfied as you are, Ilham.” Jeremy, the extractor, appears from the other room. 

“What can I say? My pleasures are simple.” Ilham shrugs.

“Right. So the mark enters the room.” Arthur brings them back to business.

“And I conjure up these lovely ladies.” Ilham spreads his arms and two stunning women appear. One with long dark hair and hazel eyes and another with shorter brown hair and a darker complexion. “And the mark will be suitably distracted while we open the safe.”

They walk into the bedroom, projections in tow and Jeremy slides the wardrobe revealing the not-so-secret safe in the back.

“Mr. Arifin has this suite booked out for months. He has no reason to suspect anyone will know about it and he has, on occasions hidden company documents inside.”

Arthur nods. “And since he’s just come out of a meeting with the board regarding their new expansion plans the memory will still be fresh in his mind, which he’ll want to store before engaging in his nighttime activities. By the way, Ilham, how well can you control your projections?”

“Well enough, I think.” Ilham tilts his head a bit and the brown haired projection walks up to Arthur. She’s almost his height in heels and runs a hand loosely across his hair. She takes a step forward and Arthur takes a step back. They take a few more steps until Arthur hits the edge of the bed and the projection pushes him. She’s on top of him within seconds and Arthur holds her head before she tries anything.

“Okay! That’s well enough, I see!” Arthur yells and pushes the projection off.

“Ilham…” Jeremy is leaning on the wardrobe with his arms crossed.

“All right, all right… Save the good stuff for the mark then.” Ilham dramatically waves his hands and the projections vanish. 

When they finally wake up, Arthur is frowning. He double checks the car arrangements and re-reads all the documents again just so no one else can talk to him. Eventually Jeremy comes up to him and says something about his constant serious face and that it only makes people try to loosen him up a little. Arthur just replies with an agreed hum.  
Does no one notice he’s relaxed? After all he isn’t wearing a suit on the job, which is a bit inconvenient but not impossible in the tropics. He shoves his hands into his pockets to check his totem and finds an empty cellophane wrapper. He needs chocolate stat.

***

Arthur wakes up first, as he always does, and goes to check on the mark. Still sound asleep. The rest of the team have 2 minutes on the timer to make sure Mr. Arifin dreams that he’s finished having fun and is back in the car on the way home. Arthur sprays perfume from a distance, smells are a strong trigger and adds to the memory element so Ilham replicated Versace which he astutely claimed is accurate from his research. 

The scent is strong and he crinkles his nose and tries to fan it away. He checks on the driver who’s been circling his way around the city with no problem, carefully avoiding any heavy traffic or potential areas for late night police checks. Arthur counts the seconds on his watch as one by one the rest of the team wakes up. They quickly wind up their tubes, pack up their things and pile out of the car.

“Mission Accomplished?” Arthur asks.

“I’d say.” Jeremy replies. Ilham nods and gives two thumbs up.

Arthur passes Jeremy a notebook and he starts to fervently write everything down. They’re standing on the sidewalk beside a row of closed shops with only the dim street lamp as a light source. Ilham spots a coffee shop nearby and motion for them to walk there. Arthur starts dialing for a taxi and by the time they get to a table and sit down he’s done with his call. He slips the PASIV under the table between his legs, double checks its position and sits up in time for Jeremy to slap the notebook on the table.  
“Done.” He exclaims proudly.

Arthur picks it up and starts scanning the squiggly letters. Everything seems in order so far until he reaches an all too familiar name.

_Robert Fischer_

“What does that say?” Arthur points at the name.

“Robert Fischer. You know…” Jeremy clicks his fingers trying to recall. “Fischer-Morrow’s son… Son of Maurice Fischer… The one who left the company when his father died.”  
“I remember.” Ilham is holding three Styrofoam cups of coffee as he joins them. “It was all over the news. The timid son of Maurice Fischer suddenly grows a pair, sells his shares and starts his own company.” He passes the cups to the other two. Jeremy holds it in his hands, Arthur takes a sip, makes a face, sniffs it again then takes another sip.

“Rumour has it a team got to Robert Fischer.” Ilham continues. His voice drops to a low whisper. “And planted the idea in his head.”

“What? Like inception?” Jeremy shakes his head. “Impossible! That can’t be done, man.”

“Hey, you never know… at this stage of dream share technology someone might’ve been successful.” 

“If they were, wouldn’t we have heard it by now?” Jeremy raises his eyebrows. “And besides you’d have to be some sort of a genius to pull it off.”

“Or crazy enough to go that deep into the subconscious.” Ilham suggests. “What do you think, Arthur?”

Arthur was busy sipping his coffee that it’s almost empty now. He swallows, clears his throat and puts down his cup.

“I agree. He’d have to be both genius _and_ crazy. Mostly crazy.”

Jeremy snorts “I’d think so. You could get lost in limbo down there. I’m never taking that kind of risk.”

“Well then Jeremy… your skills as an extractor will only go so far.” Ilham says.

“I’m happy as long as I have a sound mind when I wake up, thank you very much.” Jeremy gets up as he spots a taxi arriving. 

They leave separately with Arthur promising to type up the report and clear up the finances. They’ll leave the next day as soon as the money comes in.

***

Arthur doesn’t sleep a wink. He’s backtracking through all the information about Fischer he can find. He used to keep track of everything up until the point where Fischer officially left the company and started his own but nothing more after that. Occasionally he would read articles in the Wall Street Journal but any activity under the radar went unnoticed. His name propping up sparked Arthur’s curioslty and once lit, Arthur could go on until the midnight oil burned out.

He’s flipping through recent pictures and he has to admit that Fischer is looking better than when he saw him last, without a tie, open top button, very Richard Branson. Even his bodyguards are considerably better looking. 

Arthur closes the photograph only to open it again. He pushes up his glasses and peers in. There, at the very corner, half hidden by the crowd, he recognizes the man in the aviator shades. Arthur clicks through several other photographs, in fact through _all_ the photographs and sure enough the man in the aviators can be seen in the background. 

He finally leans back and looks at the ceiling. He’s probably too tired and hallucinating.

He says as he opens his chocolate tin. At 3am the sound is sure to wake up the whole hotel. He was supposed to reward himself for a job well done but now he’s just eating out of stress. Fate is working much too fast and not in the way he expected.

***

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Arthur?” Eames can’t just say hello over the phone.

“What are you doing with Robert Fischer?!” Arthur means to ask plainly but it comes out all angry and hissing.

“I never pegged you to be the jealous type…” 

“Eames! Does he know?”

“Relax, darling. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not what I… what do you…”

“Listen. We’ll meet up later. Have dinner. I’ll message you.” Eames ends the call and Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Why does it have to be dinner? There’s a lot of self-control involved with having dinner.

***

Eames picks a nice restaurant in a quiet part of town. Not touristy but filled with a mix expats and locals who are clearly there to enjoy the food.

Arthur is early and tapping his foot on the leg of the table. He doesn’t like not knowing things. He doesn’t like waiting for information he can’t get himself. 

Eames comes strolling in and Arthur tries his best not to look pleased. It’s not hard to do because Eames is ten minutes late and also withholding information. But still the sight of him at the doorway makes Arthur’s heart jump a little.

“Sorry I’m late. Are you hungry? Have you ordered?” Eames grins and slips into the chair opposite him.

That’s okay. Just a bit. No I haven’t. comes out as “Where’ve you been? D’you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Straight to business I see.” Eames raises his eyebrows. “Let’s order wine first. I’d feel better when you’ve calmed down a bit.” He motions for a waiter and orders a bottle without even looking at the menu.

Arthur waits and watches the entire ceremony of the wine being carried in. Opened. Poured. And tested by Eames and his luscious lips. He watches Eames take a sip, lick his lips and take another sip then nod, satisfied. The waiter leaves the bottle and Arthur’s sure he was going to say something but can’t remember.

“You should try some, Arthur. It’s quite delicious.” Eames says, raising his glass. Arthur didn’t notice he even had one.  
As soon as Arthur picks it up, Eames leans over and chinks it with his own. “Cheers!”

Arthur takes a sip then puts it down to start talking but Eames already has a menu open.

“I’m starving. What’s good to eat here?” Eames flips the pages then looks up to see Arthur in his impatient frown. “Don’t give me that face, Arthur. I’ll explain everything over dinner I promise.”

Arthur’s not sure what Eames is stalling for. Maybe he is just hungry.

Or maybe he knows.

Maybe he remembers that night.

Arthur doesn’t like it when the paranoia sets in. But that’s the problem with his mind, he has to think of everything.

He orders pasta. Eames orders a steak and makes a comment about his wine choice and how it would go well with something “meatier”. Arthur gives him a look like he doesn’t care. Eames shrugs.

It’s an awkward kind of silence, waiting for the food to arrive. Eames looks across the table at Arthur, arms crossed and impatient.

“Oh all right. If you must know… he came to me.” Eames says reclining on his chair. “Found me in a café in St. Kilda…”

“Found you? You’re not a very easy man to find.”

“Well that’s the thing… It was all coincidental really. He practically crossed the street, walked up to me and asked to sit at my table.”  
Arthur’s quizzical frown appears.

“I was ready to make a run for it, mind you.” Eames continues. “But then he looked very non-threatening, like a lost puppy that wants to befriend a stranger. So I thought I’d entertain him, you know, see how far it goes.”

The food arrives and Eames immediately starts to dig in.

“We got to talking. He asked a few questions about what I did. I’m a business consultant in the South East Asia region, by the way. He said he was in the middle of restructuring and might be looking to expand and such like that. He’s into green energy now, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Eames manages to chew and speak without doing both at the same time. “Then he said he felt he’d seen me before or known me a long time. Something somehow compelled him to come talk to me.” He snort laughs in the middle of chewing, Arthur wonders how he doesn’t choke. “Then he pays for my coffee. It’s all very romantic really.”  
Arthur’s not really sure how he feels about all that but he hasn’t touched his pasta once.

“Aren’t you at least bit suspicious about his intentions? I mean this is Fischer. We never meet the mark in real life. It compromises everything!”

“I know. I know. But we didn’t steal anything from him. We just gave him a lot of good memories. Action-packed ones, though… but those are the best kind of dreams.” Eames has a point. They did reinforce Fischer’s relationship with his father, made him find closure, and he did come out the better in the end.

Arthur hums in agreement. He always assumes the worst, but it’s second nature to him. It’s how he’s still alive. 

“Besides why would you care?” Eames asks. 

Arthur shoves a forkful of pasta to give him time to answer the question. It’s a simple answer really, he just doesn’t want the first thing that pops into his head to come out of his mouth.

“Because if you’re not careful, anything can be traced back to the rest of the team.” Arthur says firmly. “We’re all independent contractors but it’s not the first time someone’s ratted us out.” He stabs at a piece of ham. “Cobb’s out of the game, Saito’s untouchable, Yusuf’s got connections but Ariadne’s just a kid… She wasn’t even supposed to be in the dream.”

“You didn’t mention yourself?”

“I can take care of myself.” Arthur holds his stare.

Eames makes a soundless “oh” and asks, “and you think I’m that irresponsible?”

“No not really.” Arthur shakes his head. “But for the right price you could be… for your new boyfriend. Or is it sugar daddy?”

Eames breaks the stare completely by laughing too loud. He covers a hand over his mouth when he realizes the other patrons of the restaurant are looking.

“Oh Arthur… Arthur.” Eames smiles at him, resting his chin in his palm. “I like you. I really really do.”

Arthur’s not exactly sure what happened, he’s momentarily distracted by the way Eames says his name.

“We need to work on a job together. I’m starting to miss you, you know.” Eames says casually.

Arthur blinks.

“The way you always think the worst.”

“You think I’m pessimistic?” Arthur is insulted. “It’s called examining all the options, Eames.”

“Of course it is. You think of everything, don’t you darling?”

Arthur swears that if he wasn’t in public he would deck Eames right in the face. He’s beginning to second guess the attraction, but then again love and hate are two sides of the same coin. He just wishes it would pick a side and stay there.

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you when everything goes haywire.” Arthur finishes the wine in his glass. He should get an award for keeping it civil.

“All right.” Eames nods. “But I meant what I said earlier. We should work together.”

“What? So you can goad me every opportunity you get?”

Eames sways from side to side. “Yes, maybe. And mostly I like your company.” He refills Arthur’s wine glass. “So tell me, what brings you to this neck of the woods. Are you working a job?”

“Just finished.” Arthur twirls his fork in his spaghetti mindlessly.

“Oh good for you! Nice to see you get back into the field.”

Eames looks genuinely happy. But Arthur instantly regrets what he said because he can see the cogs turning in Eames’ mind.

“You’re working for the other side then? Because it’s far too much of a coincidence for you to find me. Unless you’re stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So which is it?”

“I can’t say.”

“Of course of course. For your safety… and mine.”

The dinner ends on a lighter note. Once they’ve stopped talking about work, Arthur feels he can relax. However he realizes that there’s really nothing much to talk about other than work. Neither of them particularly feels like sharing personal information and Arthur isn’t much of a charmer to pull it out of Eames, even though he’s curious about piecing together all the scraps of information he has gathered. Eames, when he’s not being insufferable, is someone Arthur would like to get to know.  
So he accepts Eames offer for drinks. The déjà vu moment of the situation makes Arthur check himself. If things go out of hand he’s going to walk away. He can already imagine his phone call to Ariadne, should anything go wrong. Again.

They go to the bar in Eames’ hotel. It’s the most convenient option for Arthur. If Eames ends up drunk, and he does like his drink, Arthur can just shove him in the elevator and bid him adieu.

But as the night goes, Arthur doesn’t just shove him, he accompanies him up the elevator, down the hallway and into the bedroom. To which, he resigns, he will just dump Eames on the bed and leave. 

However, he did not count on being under Eames when he fell on the bed.

“Eames. Get off!” Arthur’s trying to be polite but Eames is just a lot of dead weight and telling him to move won’t work.

“S’fine. I’m fine. I’m just gonna sleep it off.”

“Yes. Well. Sleep it off once I leave.”

“Wait!” Eames yells right at Arthur’s face. He leans up on his elbows. Both arms on the sides of Arthur’s head. “Don’t go. Because… because I know.” He practically breathes the last word which has Arthur reacting to the alcohol on Eames’ breath.

“What do you know, Eames?” Arthur says lightly in the sort of voice one would use to entertain a child.

“I know… that all night… you’ve been wanting to kiss me.”

“What?” Arthur’s poker face would be convincing if he wasn’t blushing.

“I know you’ve been wanting to…” And without much warning Eames leans his head and mashes his mouth on to Arthur’s.

_This. This is not my fault._

It takes the sheer power of will and Arthur’s guilty conscience to roll Eames off him.

“You, mister, are very drunk. And you know what happens when you get drunk.” Arthur’s got his serious face on. “And that is a very bad come-on line.”

Eames hums from the back of his throat which does things to Arthur’s insides. Arthur gets off the bed, maintaining composure and straightens his jacket. He sees the ungainly heap of Eames, shirt slipping out of his waistband, head lolling, reeking of alcohol.

Normally, _normally_ , this kind of thing doesn’t turn him on.

“Right. Take off your shoes.”

Eames kicks off his loafers very slowly with very little coordination.

“Now scoot up there.”

Eames does his humming again and Arthur takes a step back just to hold himself. Eames moves eventually, shifting himself and settling down on a pillow.

“Okay. I’m going to leave you now. Intact.” Arthur says, mostly to himself. “With your pants on.”

He turns to leave and just as he reaches the door he can hear the sound of snoring.

***

The next morning’s hangover isn’t so bad when there’s a lack of guilt in the air. But wine brings the worst kind of headache and Arthur wants to bury himself in a bacon sandwich. 

His instinct after that is to call Cobb. Because Cobb should know if shit’s going to go down after Fischer discovers he’s been messed with. As much as he’d like to take Eames on his word, once a negative possibility has manifested itself it will just stick in Arthur’s head. Old habits are very hard to kill no matter how many holidays you take.  
He picks up the phone and still can’t bring himself to dial the number. 

Breakfast and a gallon of water later, Arthur decides to be self-sacrificing and sort this all by himself. Cobb will not be disturbed unless absolutely necessary. Because that’s what he does. He just wishes he could get his head on straight whenever he meets Eames.

It’s starting to get ridiculous how he’s always so easily distracted, if only Eames didn’t talk. Didn’t have those arms or those eyes and especially those lips. If only he was a hideous, unlikeable lump.

***

Arthur has many skills but covert operation isn’t one of them.

“Stop hiding behind that newspaper and get over here.”

Eames’ text message is like a bullet through the chest that he jerks on reflex. He lowers the newspaper slowly and peers over the top. Across the street through the window of the cafe, Eames waves at him to come over and Fischer is busy reading the menu. Arthur vehemently shakes his head no but Eames waves even harder that Fischer notices and now it’s too late to hide.

Arthur crosses the street looking both ways and all around. If this is a trap he better be prepared with an escape route. Because if it _is_ a trap then it’d be doubly embarrassing. Arthur’s idea of a disguise is a straw fedora, a shirt full of palm trees and a camera. The unassuming tourist look. He feels ridiculous.  
“Robert, this is Ted.” Eames introduces.

“Nice to meet you.” Fischer gives a good business handshake.

“Likewise.” Arthur mumbles. He doesn’t want to be rude but he doesn’t want to remove his sunglasses either.

“Ted’s an accountant... Chartered, I believe.” Eames says proudly and pulls up a seat right next to him. Arthur takes it and gives him a stare.

But Fischer is seems suitably impressed. “Oh, who are you working for?”

“Ah.” Arthur clears his throat. “I’m more of a freelancer really.”

“Right. Right.” Fischer seems to fidget a bit. “Well I don’t want to disturb your holiday...” He quickly gives Arthur a look over. The straw hat is a dead giveaway. “But I’m in the market for an accountant.”

“Oh!” Arthur makes a show of looking in his wallet to produce a name card and apologises for not having any.

“That’s fine.” Fischer pulls out his. Arthur takes it and quickly glances. _Viridian._

“This is a new company.” Arthur says. “Sustainable and renewable energy.”

“That’s correct.” Fischer is pleased someone has heard of it. “Let me know if you want to join us to save the world.”

“Wait. Robert Fischer? From Fischer Morrow?” Arthur does his best surprised look.

Fischer flinches a little but maintains composure.

“Yes that’s me. Fischer Morrow isn’t...”

“Oh no! Right. I know. It’s just that. Wow. Robert Fischer. In person.” Arthur sputters.

He doesn’t really know what else to say and is saved by the mobile phone ringtone.

Fischer looks at it and gets up from the table. “Excuse me I have to take this.” He says and walks outside.

As soon as Fischer is out of earshot Arthur turns sharply to Eames.

“What the hell are you doing?” He’s trying not to shout.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Eames has the audacity to giggle.

“Not bad? You ass! How am I supposed to pass for an accountant?”

“You’re doing fine.”

“And what kind of a name is ‘Ted’?”

“Ted’s a fine name for an accountant.”

“Who are _you_ supposed to be?”

“I’m ‘Bill the business consultant’.” Eames thinks it’s funny, Arthur doesn’t. 

“Why did you even ask me here? Didn’t I tell you how dangerous this is?”

“Well you didn’t give me much of a choice, Arthur.” Eames shrugs. “You don’t answer your phone, you don’t reply to any of my messages. And yet I see you stalking me with your sunglasses and your camera. That’s a nice shirt by the way.”

Eames has such strange ways of complimenting, Arthur can never be sure. He narrows his eyes and is about to say something when Fischer comes back.  
“I’m sorry about that gentlemen, but I have to leave.” He nods politely then turns to Arthur. “Listen, Ted. I’d really like to continue our conversation.”

Arthur shakes Fischer’s hand but his smile is all nervous.

“Why don’t you come over to my private yacht. We can discuss over drinks.”

“Oh that would be such an honor, sir.” Arthur shakes Fischer’s hand vigorously now.

“Excellent. I look forward to it. Bill will show you the way, won’t you?” 

Eames gives a wink and a nod as a reply.

As soon as Fischer is gone, Arthur slumps in his seat and buries his head in his hands.

“There there.” Eames pats him on the back. “He really has a fantastic yacht.”

***

Fantastic is just how Arthur would describe it. Amazing would be just about accurate.

It’s impressive on the surface and Arthur can use this to maintain his sense of wonder at meeting _THE_ Robert Fischer. He won’t play it too much though. Chartered accountants aren’t supposed to have that many feelings.

Except maybe when business consultants turn up in a well fitting suit three piece suit.

“Welcome aboard!” Eames says with a mock salute. He looks at home in the swaying vessel that it might as well be his.

“You clean up nice, Eames.” Arthur lets loose his dimples. He might as well. It’s a party and he gets to be someone else for a while.

“It’s ‘Bill’...” Eames whispers in his ear and he takes Arthur’s elbow and leads him towards the crowd.

“You don’t look like a ‘Bill’.” Arthur whispers back.

“But you look like a ‘Ted’. Nice touch with the glasses.” Eames winks at him and proceeds to greet all the guests.

The crowd appears to be high society, Arthur scans the room and sees more Fortune 500 and less US Weekly. Prince Azim is there of course. His presence is a definite deal maker. Arthur can see a number of people with their eyes on him hoping to initiate some sort of conversation. By the looks of it some have waited years for the opportunity.  
Arthur turns his attention to the corner of the room and makes eye contact with Fischer. Fischer acknowledges him with a polite nod and he takes a deep breath. Arthur’s had time to prepare his character a bit. Ted is a little more like what Arthur would’ve been if he hadn’t met Cobb in college. Or rather if he had gone to a different college. Actually more like what would’ve manifested from that one year in high school when Arthur felt that he was really good at Math and considered it for a career.

“Glad you could make it, Ted.” Fischer has practically perfected the business handshake to the point that it’s genuinely welcoming.

“Glad to be here.” Arthur breathes evenly and waits for cues. He would just follow whatever Fischer has to say and agree. And if asked for any opinions, Arthur can kiss ass pretty well. All he has to do is listen...

“Ah, Bill. Finally, I was beginning to worry.” Fischer suddenly exclaims to the man approaching.

Arthur steps back and just watches.

Fischer’s body language is more relaxed with Eames nearby. He wasn’t wrong that there’s definitely something going on. For a moment it almost sounds like they’re speaking in code the way they’re laughing at some inside joke.

Suddenly an attendant appears by Fischer’s side and hands him a phone. He claps a hand on Eames’ arm and gives it a squeeze, then turns to Arthur. “Enjoy the party.” He says and as if on cue a server stops to offer champagne.

“What was that about?” Arthur asks.  
“Just business.” Eames shrugs. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Arthur isn’t satisfied but he isn’t going to pass on the offer of food.

He spends most of the party by Eames’ side. His crush aside, Arthur doesn’t really want to spend any time socializing anyway. He’ll just stand by the railings breathing in Eames’ heady cologne and making observations about random guests that pass by.

“So what do you think of Fischer?” Eames asks.

“He’s all right.” Arthur says.

“Not suspicious or anything?”

“Not that I can see. I’m beginning to think we might’ve done him some good actually.” Arthur nods.

“There you go.” Eames gives him a pat. “He’s just a rich kid who’s trying to make his own in the world for once.”

“I suppose he’s doing a good job. Though his ‘Save The World’ schtick might need some work.”

“Aw he’s doing the best he can.” Eames sounds like he’s defending a sick pet. Fischer certainly doesn’t look like he needs it. “Haven’t you ever wanted to save the world?”

“I dream about it all the time.”

“Well let’s make it a reality then.” Fischer says out of the blue. They didn’t notice him lean on the railing next to them. Arthur holds his breath. How long has Fischer been standing there? “I could really use a man a like you, Ted.” He says. Not long apparently.

“I’m seriously considering it.” Arthur nods his head eagerly. 

“Good. Great.” If Fischer weren’t on his exclusive yacht in a fine suit he’d probably give a thumbs up. “Now if you don’t mind. I need to steal Bill for a moment.”

Arthur shrugs and gestures at him to take Eames away. But he doesn’t expect to see Fischer slip his arm down Eames’ back and literally take him away.

Arthur lets it slide and decides to actually start enjoying the party. He takes another glass of champagne and strikes up a conversation with a pretty CEO of an Internet start up company.

He tries every hors d'oeuvre twice, some three times just to be sure he actually likes them. And he’s thinking of getting a glass of something stronger because he’s starting to get worried. Eames has been gone for almost thirty minutes.

Surely business is business but Arthur needs to know what he needs to know and he’ll use any method to find out. He walks in the general direction of where they went. He follows the path to the stern of the ship that’s occupied by a lone bodyguard. The only other way is to the cabin.

He opens the door quietly and the hallway is empty. There are a number of doors and Arthur isn’t about to open each any every one of them. He walks down the aisle thinking of an easier way to figure out which room they’re in when he finally hears voices. One of the doors is slightly ajar and he peers in.

Two figures are in the center of the room. Fischer clearly has his arms around Eames.

“Bill, do you trust me?”

“Sure I...”

“Don’t you think we should take this relationship a step further?”

Arthur doesn’t wait to find out because suddenly it’s become very hard to breathe. Going out of the cabin doesn’t seem to help as much as he thought it would. The air is cooler but the tightness in his chest isn’t letting up.

His mouth goes dry and he heads for the crowd on the deck. Two glasses of champagne doesn’t calm him down and leaning over the side only makes him want to throw up more. He looks pale enough that the other guests start to notice and soon enough he’s offered a boat back to shore.

“It’s sea sickness. The poor fellow.” Arthur hears as he steps on the boat. He clutches his stomach just to exaggerate. He hears the crewman radio the land crew for a taxi. Efficient service. Good. He doesn’t want to wait long.

There’s a taxi already waiting the moment he steps on the dock. Someone tells him to get well soon and just smiles and nods. He tells the taxi to take him to his hotel and just sits there for the entire ride. He doesn’t want to think of anything right now.

Yes he knows he’s an idiot and that it’s stupid to have all these irrational feelings. Yes none of this would’ve happened if he was honest in the first place. If he hadn’t run away to go on a holiday from his holiday. If he had bothered to answer all the messages. But what’s in the past is in the past and it doesn’t make any sense for him to feel the stinging in his eyes. He doesn’t care that he’s using his sleeve as a tissue, that his glasses are fogging up and that he’ll look like shit as he walks past the reception.

The next flight out isn’t until the next morning. Arthur can wait. He’d probably gorge himself to death on his chocolates and he doesn’t mind, that seems an easier way to go. He shrugs off the jacket, kicks off his pants and crawls into bed. Goose feather pillows try their best to comfort him but their general softness all they can do.  
Arthur spends the next twenty minutes feeling sorry for himself under the covers.

He hates that he doesn’t have a contingency plan for this. How is anyone supposed to make a plan when none of the factors are ever concrete? What do people do when they feel like their world is crumbling? For someone in dreamshare, they’d normally wake up. Arthur hasn’t checked his totem in a while and is a little afraid to. Afraid that he’s not dreaming. Afraid that he won’t wake up. Afraid that he’ll stay like this forever. But he makes the effort to move just to find his little red die. The scratches and the indents are still the same. He rolls it and it hits a six, over and over. He finds comfort in its consistency.

He empties the entire contents of the weathered Quality Street tin onto his bed and throws it to the corner of the room. He opens the mini-fridge and is determined to drink all little bottles he finds there. Even the soda water, which he hates. 

He positions his pillows and gets comfortable under the covers and is just about to flip open his laptop when the doorbell rings. Arthur thinks about it for two seconds and decides not to answer. Then three knocks.

“Arthur? Are you all right?”

It’s Eames. He’s definitely not opening the door.

“Can you open the door?” 

No.

“Arthur?”

Arthur doesn’t move. In fact he stays quiet that he barely breathes. 

Then he hears a soft “Oh Christ... Arthur! Hang in there! I’ll get the manager to open the door!”

The only thing worse than having your heart broken is having the person who broke it not even know what he did.

“Damn it...” Arthur rushes to open the door because the last thing he wants is to explain things to hotel staff.

Eames is three steps towards the elevator when Arthur steps out to the hallway in his underwear.

There’s a moment of awkward silence then Eames walks up to him and places a hand on his forehead.

“You’re looking perkier than I expected. Your eyes are a little red though.”

Arthur sniffs.

“What- what do you want?”

“I came to see how you were.” Eames says ushering Arthur back to the room. “I heard you got ill at the party.” He closes the door behind him. “And as usual, you didn’t answer your phone. And I didn’t know which hotel you stayed in so I had to ask the land crew to ask the taxi company. And...” Eames looks around at the mess on the bed and bedside table. “Where you thinking of have a party here? All on your own?”

Arthur’s reaching into his jacket pocket - of course he didn’t hear his phone, it was on silent. Eight missed calls.

“That’s a lot of missed calls.” Arthur shows him his phone.

“I was worried! You left all of a sudden!” Eames certainly sounded worried.

“Well I’m fine now.” Arthur shrugs. “So...” 

“Is this Quality Street?” Eames is already sitting on his bed inspecting the yellow cellophane wrapped candy. He pulls off the crinkly wrapping, peels off the foil and pops  
the whole thing in his mouth. “Mmm... caramel.”

Arthur sits on the edge, picks a handful from the bed and offers it to him. 

“Thank you.” Eames waves his hand. 

Arthur watches him chew with considerable difficulty because the caramel tends to get stuck in one’s teeth.

“It’s been a while” Eames says finally. “I used to love them like mad. Eat them all the time.”

Arthur unwraps a blue one slowly and takes a bite.

“What is that?” Eames is suddenly curious.

“Coconut.”

“Oh. I’m not fan...”

“I don’t mind it...”

“Where did you get these anyway?”

“You gave them to me.” Arthur says mindlessly, chewing on the chocolate. Then realises it.

“I did? When?”

“Our last job.”

Eames looks at the corner of the ceiling. “Jesus, Arthur that was ages ago! Are these still good?” He looks at them suspiciously.

“They’re fine.” Arthur reassures him but Eames picks one anyway and sniffs it. 

Arthur doesn’t want to have to explain that they’re not the original batch from the tin but Eames doesn’t ask anymore and unwraps the chocolate in his hand.

“I think I like this party a lot better.” Eames chews on his second one.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” Arthur says as if it doesn’t upset him, as if nothing happened but he’s trying very hard to be nice about it. “Fischer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Mmrrf, God no...” Eames shakes his head.

“No?”

“No.” Eames confirms. “Fischer’s not exactly... We... uh- can’t do business together.”

“What happened?” Arthur is curious as he is pleased.

“Well... let’s just say that we have different goals... different sights.”

“I’m not sure I...”

“Hey Arthur.”

“What?” Arthur blinks.

“Can I join your little party instead?” 

“Well I was just going to watch something...” Arthur’s voice trails off. He could have pretended he was doing something else but nothing comes to mind.

“Excellent, what’re we watching?”

Think of something cool. Something impressive. “Pride and Prejudice.” Arthur says sheepishly. “The series.” He adds because maybe that’s just a little bit better. Besides there aren’t any other options other than rom coms on his laptop.

“Great, pass me one of those will you?” Eames points at the pile of little bottles on the bedside table. “I’ve never got drunk while watching a period drama before.” He sounds too amused.

Eames takes off his jacket, lays on the nearby chair and rolls his sleeves. 

“Right then!” He claps his hands together. “Bring on the country dances.”

“We can watch something else you know...”

“No that’s all right. We can see Colin Firth in his breeches. I know how much you love the tight pants.”

Arthur flushes red all the way to his ears.

Eames laughs and ruffles Arthur’s hair then settles on the bed stealing Arthur’s pillows. 

The next fifty minutes are eventful. 

Eames doesn’t remember half the characters and Arthur offers to start from the very beginning but Eames is sure he’ll remember them soon enough.

He doesn’t and asks “Who’s that again?” every time a character appears on the screen.

“I know that’s Darcy and that’s Darcy’s friend Wickham.” Eames sounds so sure.

“No that’s Bingley.” Arthur says clearly.

“Then who’s Wickham? Isn’t he one of Darcy’s friends too?”

“No... well... sort of... They were friends until Wickham tried to elope with Darcy’s sister and...”

“Wait. Did I miss that part?”

“No we haven’t got there yet. We see it later.”

“Then why are you telling me now? That’s a spoiler.”

“I thought you’ve watched this show before!” Arthur’s just about run out of patience.

“I have. I just don’t remember all of it.” 

“Then next time _you_ pick the movie! God, you talk too much!” Arthur is exasperated.

“Next time?” Eames raises an eyebrow.

Arthur avoids eye contact.

“You say I’m annoying. But I think you secretly like me.” Eames smirks and there are chocolate stains on his cheek.

Arthur takes a couple of deep breaths. Now’s a good opportunity as any. He’s gone through far too many emotions in one day he might as well get it all over with.

“What if...” Arthur looks at the corner of the room to find the words. “What if I did secretly like you? What if I do?” He looks straight into Eames’ eyes. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be scared or brave but he has to at least be honest.

“Why I’d be flattered.” Eames replies.

“I mean it. I do like you.”

“Then I _am_ flattered. What took you so long, darling?”

“Don’t play with me, Eames.”

“I’m not.” Eames tries to look at Arthur square in the eyes but ends up bobbing his head trying to find them. “Do you have to wear those ridiculous glasses?”

“They’re just my glasses.” Arthur says tightly and frowns. They’re not ridiculous.

“Sorry... I just didn’t think you wore glasses.” 

“Why? Do I look less attractive in them?” Arthur asks.

“Not at all. I find them very... endearing.” Eames can’t think of a better word.

“Endearing?” Arthur crinkles his nose.

“I meant adorable.” Eames corrected.

“Adorable?” Correction denied. “Smart?”

Arthur just pushes them up his nose. 

“You’re very hard to please.” Eames worries for a second. “But then again you said you like me. So I must be doing something right?”

He’s terribly smug but Arthur shows him his dimples anyway, as approval. Eames reaches out and pokes one of them.

“This... is not something I see very often.”

“Stick around. You just might.”

***

They’re not really going out, per se, and it’s too soon to tell Ariadne but Arthur is just far too excitable and he doesn’t like it. It’s not that he likes to be disappointed it’s just that he always prepares for the worst. For the situations that he prays won’t happen but if they do then at least he’s prepared. He has steeled his nerves and ready to face whatever comes. He hates first dates or getting-to-know-you dates. It’s not really something you can have with a man like Eames, whose life story may be ninety percent fiction.

Yet it was Eames’ idea to put all the cards on the table. He said he didn’t trust people easily and that may or may not have been why Arthur had to be the first to say something about their mutual attraction. First thing’s first they had to get to know each other a little bit more before they venture into the wild and crazy world of romance.

“First name?”

“John. Last name?”

“Hard to pronounce.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’ll write it down on the napkin for you to memorise.”

“Okay.” Eames places a napkin and a pen right in front of Arthur.

“Not until you tell me your real last name.”

“It’s one for one, Arthur. No cheating. How do I know if Arthur is your real first name?”

“How do I know if John is yours? We are getting nowhere.”

They’re at the nice restaurant they went the last time. Eames picked the place and Arthur was thinking of ordering the steak he had. Maybe they’ll be in a better mood after they eat. Eames chooses the wine again and Arthur recalls his headache.

“Never again.” He says as takes a sip. “Just this bottle but that’s it.”

“Oh you’re no fun.”

“No fun? You’re the one who goes overboard. If I have to be dragging you ass home all the time. I’m going to have to cut you off here.”

Eames makes a pout.

“Don’t even try to look innocent.” Arthur says sternly. “Every time this happens, you try to jump me.”

“It only happened twice, Arthur. And if I recall correctly, the first time I woke up without my clothes on.”

“You _took them off_! I didn’t even t--” Arthur falls silent. He has a resolution to be honest this time round. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He swallows, takes a deep breath and tugs at the edges of his napkin. All this time, Eames is watching with rapt fascination. 

“Listen I... The first time we... had drinks and went to my hotel room. It was really hot in the room and you took off your shirt. You can’t just walk around half-naked like that?”

“I apologise for my impropriety.” Eames says in a half-amused tone.

“Anyway. You had me cornered between the heater and your... chest.” Arthur gestures with his hands how big the chest is. “And I had nowhere to go so I... I... I um... kissed you.”

“Oh!” Eames is fully amused now. “On the lips?”

“Yes.” Arthur fiddles with his napkin for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

Eames is shaking his head. “Oh Arthur. I never thought you’d be that bold. I usually expect a nice dinner and a walk home to let anyone get that far.”  
Arthur narrows his eyes.

“And if it’s a really nice dinner, maybe I’d let him put his hand under my shirt.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being...”

“Relax, darling. Relax. It’s just a kiss. Did I kiss back at least?”

“Nah you just... sort of slid off.” Arthur gestured the sliding motion with his hands.

“Well now that was rude of me.”

“But you did kiss me the second time though. That was not my fault.”

Eames laughed.

“Right then!” Eames clapped his hands together loudly. “How about we start this over. You buy me a nice dinner and later if I’m a willing and consensual partner, we’ll kiss. Properly this time. And if you’re good enough. Maybe I’ll kiss back.”

“Good enough?”

“Well you have to work for it don’t you? Just getting me drunk doesn’t count.”

Arthur nods. “All right. That seems fair. Just one question.”

“Yes?”

“Are we exclusive?”

“Hmmm... Do you have anyone in your sights?”

“I don’t but you might.”

Eames squints at him.

“What about Fischer?”

“What about him?”

“Eames, come on... do you expect me to believe that there’s nothing going on with the two of you?”

Eames hums for a moment. “It’s not what you think.”

Arthur clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh you’ve broken my heart already.”

But Eames just reaches over and places a hand over Arthur’s. “Will you believe me enough to say that it really isn’t what you think?” His was serious tone and Arthur’s 

starting to get worried. He wants to believe and yet there’s something gnawing on his insides telling him something isn’t right. Eames hasn’t spoken about what happened in the night of the party and Arthur isn’t about to bring it up. He decides it isn’t the time or place to say something so he doesn’t.

“Okay.” Is what Arthur says.

The moment is broken by the waiter bringing in their orders and the conversation changes to food.

The dinner ends and they’re in front of Eames hotel, right outside the lobby door. Arthur hold Eames’ lapels and stands in front of him.

“Shall I bid you goodnight?”

“What? Right here? In front of everyone?” Eames looks around at the staff staring from the concierge desk.

“If I have to...” Arthur is determined to get it right.

“Upstairs.” Eames says and holds Arthur by the wrist and takes him to the elevator.

The ride is long and filled with anticipation but Arthur can hold it. All the alcohol they had has probably burned off by now and everything is solid and clear.

They reach his door and Arthur taps Eames on the shoulder to get him to turn around but Eames quickly takes his hand and pulls him into the room.

“I don’t believe the dinner was this grand...” Arthur huffs. He’s trapped between the door and Eames.

“Is this how it was?” Eames palms are flat on the door on either side of Arthur’s head. Their chests pressing against each other, and Eames has a thigh right between Arthur’s legs.

“Um... Pretty much...” Arthur’s concentration wanes with the closeness in proximity he gets to Eames. This close and it’s intoxicating. He slides his arms around Eames’ waist.

“I hope you enjoyed dinner...”

“I did.”

“Excellent choice of wine, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“And I hope you don’t mind if I...” Arthur doesn’t finish his sentence and he doesn’t wait for an answer either. He leans forward and meets Eames lips with his. He kisses Eames’ bottom lip slowly and when Eames’ responds Arthur is fine about exploring a little. The sensations of their lips together gets him a little giddy and he tries restrain himself a bit. But the moment carries him and his tongue moves in.

“Not bad.” Eames says when they finally break apart. They’re both flushed and suddenly hot. Arthur doesn’t want their lips to be apart for much longer but he waits. Waits for Eames to catch his breath. Then pushes away from the door and takes a step forward. They move further into the room and towards the bed. 

Arthur stops. Removes his jacket then holds up his hands signalling that he won’t go any further than that. Eames takes off his jacket and folds his sleeves. Arthur moves in,  
nudging closer to the bed and once Eames’ calf reaches the edge he falls over with Arthur on top of him.

There’s no mistaking it, they both meet a little too fast and there’s a clash of teeth. They giggle into each other and try again slowly. Arthur takes his time and really waits Eames to kiss back before pushing any further. There’s nothing more of a turn-off than someone jamming their tongue into you.

The third time, Arthur is pushing Eames into the sheets. As much as he wants to take his time and make it perfect, he always wants to explore more to Eames’ lips and tongue. Eames is all too obliging. Arthur’s hands are in his hair, messing up the Brylcreem in them. He suspects Eames is finding a little too addictive the moment Eames wraps his arms around Arthur, preventing him from moving away.

“I need to breathe sometime.” Arthur whispers barely an inch away from Eames’ lips.

“I know. It’s just that…” Eames doesn’t really want to finish the sentence.

They’re at it for almost an hour until Arthur realizes they’re still wearing their shoes. 

“I think this is a personal record for me.” He says as his kicks off his shoes at the edge of the bed.

“Me too.” Eames says as he follows suit. They both move further up the bed and get comfortable among the pillows.

“Really?” Arthur props himself up on one elbow.

“Yeah... I don’t think I’ve... _made out_... with anyone for that long.” Eames laughs because it sounds so high school.

“No, are you serious?” Arthur asks again.

“Dead serious.” Eames rests his hands behind his head. Arthur sees this as a cue to start kissing again and he does only to break off and ask.

“Really?”

“Arthur, stop it. You’re ruining the mood.” Eames holds Arthur’s head in an effort to make him understand.

“Sorry I just thought... I thought I was running against a scale or something.”

“A scale?”

“A comparison rate.”

“A what?”

“You know...” Arthur shrugs. “Of your ex-lovers.”

Eames physically chokes, that he has to sit up.

“Ex-lovers? Now who put that idea in your head?”

Arthur is taken aback. 

“Oh no... Not you too Arthur.” Eames starts to shake his head. “Don’t tell me you believe those rumours... Do you?”

Arthur waits to hear what it is before denying it completely.

“You know what I’m talking about... Just because I’m overly friendly people think I’m flirty. Because I tend to lose myself when I’m drunk that I’m going to sleep with anyone I pick up from a bar.”

“Well...”

“Because I can forge men and women that I’m some sort of seducer of both sexes. That I’m some sort of one-night-stand bicurious sex god!”

Arthur wants to laugh at that but Eames is looking serious. His face is all red and if Arthur doesn’t do something soon the night will be ruined.

“Rumors are rumors. People say what they want to say. You can’t blame me for thinking you’re a one-night-stand bicurious sex god.” Arthur says it lightly but Eames isn’t laughing.

“Eames. Eames look at me.” Arthur touches Eames’ face to get his attention. “I’m sorry I said what I said. But why do you think I made that assumption? You’re absolutely gorgeous. You have the most amazing set of blue-gray-green eyes I’ve ever seen and a voice I want to wrap myself in all day.

“You carry yourself like you have no worries in the world and you have the kind of confidence that people envy. If people confuse you for your job that’s their mistake.”  
“I suppose...” Eames mumbles.

Arthur leans on his elbow and brushes the hair away from Eames face. He looks absolutely childish with a sulk on. Arthur has never seen such an expression and he smiles in the hope that it’ll go away. He kisses Eames’ cheek. “All better now.”

“I don’t know. I think you’ll have to do it again.”

Arthur aims for his cheek again but Eames moves and their lips meet. Eames’ smirk is met with Arthur’s smile and they both move in slowly. Lip to lip. Tongue to tongue. This time they know how to keep their pace. To take turns and learn how to breathe. They could do it all night if they wanted to.

Arthur rolls back exhausted even though all they did was kiss. He’s staring at the ceiling a little out of breath that he doesn’t notice Eames’ fingers intertwine his.  
He has no idea how long he’s been there but he knows he doesn’t want to move anytime soon. He looks at his watch and it’s getting late. He moves to get up but Eames hand is still holding him. He turns to ask Eames to let go but Eames is asleep.His grip is tight and Arthur doesn’t have the heart to wake him up. 

Eames has revealed a lot more in the past hour than he probably has his entire life and it scares Arthur a little that he trusts him enough to do that. Arthur isn’t sure if he’s ready to show any of his vulnerabilities yet though he suspects they may have already come out. He doesn’t have a contingency plan for this but it doesn’t worry him. He’ll think of one when the time comes.

So he lies there and closes his eyes and drifts into sleep.

The next time he wakes he definitely can’t leave. Eames entire arm is across his chest and his leg has locked around Arthur’s.  
When Eames lets go and rolls over, Arthur doesn’t leave. He’s not going anywhere.


End file.
